Crimson Prison
by Miniature Garden
Summary: After nearly a century of vacancy Allerdale Hall is converted into a luxury getaway, immensely popular until the strange occurrences began—with some asserting that the hotel harbors the ghosts of its former owners. Caelan O'Reilley, a young woman sensitive to the other side, plans a stay there so she can validate or otherwise disprove the rumors of this haunting.
1. I - Everything Before It Began

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch's high estate;

(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)

And, round about his home, the glory

That blushed and bloomed

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

POE: _The Haunted Palace_ , Part IV

* * *

 **I - Everything Before It Began**

After nearly a century of vacancy and disrepair, the cliffside manor known as Allerdale Hall was one day discovered by overseas real estate investors who, upon conjuring lavish visions of its former glory, decided to begin renovations and convert it into a luxury hotel, with all the frills and furbelows of Victorian-era England being its primary calling card. Five years passed and millions of dollars were spent before the mansion reached a state of functionality, and even then the grand undertaking was not without tribulation.

Numerous construction workers cited feelings of discomfort or dread during work hours, like someone might be looming nearby whenever they were alone, a deathly stare burning into the backs of their heads or a soft voice calling out from the shadows, yet no one would be around. Other times tools and other objects went missing, only to reappear in another part of the manor. In more severe cases, structural repairs made by the workers were mysteriously undone the moment they walked away: newly hinged doors flew out of their frames, sometimes noisily; pipes in the plumbing came loose at random; and wiring the main elevator was a nightmare, let alone getting it to work.

It was speculated that there could be delinquents or disgruntled locals disturbing the worksite, so surveillance and security were upped to the maximum, and the suspicious activity quieted down enough that the workers suffered no further technical hitches, though the eerie atmosphere remained. While some speculated about the mansion having a haunted nature or dark past, there were no records available to solidly validate or discredit these beliefs. All the developers knew was that Allerdale Hall had been abandoned in the early 1900's and stayed that way until the present. With massive amounts of funding poured into the project, no one was going to relinquish it on account of a few unexplained events.

Perhaps it would have been prudent to heed the warning signs.

Even before the start of business reservations were being made, and once Allerdale Hall Hotel officially opened its doors to the public, visitors from around the world flocked to its rooms for a trip back in time, to an era of grandeur and opulence. With historically accurate décor and modern-day conventions integrated into one splendid masterpiece, the hotel received the highest of accolades and garnered wide recognition due to its unique setting. When winter arrived and snow began to fall, the blanketed property would suddenly turn a striking shade of crimson, this being attributed by geologists to red clay soil seeping out of the ground. Apparently, the estate had earned the appellation of "Crimson Peak" back in the day, as people who bore witness to the phenomenon continued to discuss throughout the years. It was a hauntingly beautiful sight to see, no doubt about it, evoking images of passion in romantic minds, and ones of the macabre in others.

However, the weird happenings persisted, including framed pictures falling from the walls and a piano placed near the downstairs fireplace producing notes when no one was actually playing it. Guests felt increasingly uneasy and unwelcome, even more so in wintertime, thereby causing a gradual decline in visitation over the course of a year, much to the dismay of hotel management. Allerdale Hall Hotel (or "AHH!" as it was sometimes called) became a hotspot for artists and writers seeking their muse, as well as paranormal investigators, ghost hunters and other horror enthusiasts. I came to AHH as one of the latter bunch, a spiritual medium of sorts hoping to aid trapped spirits in crossing over.

I never truly fancied myself a professional psychic as some might, mostly because I could not physically see ghosts, but rather possessed "second sight", or an awareness of the unseen. I was certainly sensitive to the spirit world and strongly believed in my past experiences, many of which motivated me to investigate and quietly converse with spirits, usually with a pendulum and automatic writing, wherein I allowed the thoughts or emotions of the spirits to flow through a pen and onto paper. I was ever leery of the Ouija board and even tarot cards, due to the possibility of opening doors to the other side and inviting unwanted guests into my life. Despite my precautions and spiritual protection, there were some risks I was just not willing to take.

During my train ride into the county of Cumbria I found myself unable to remove my eyes from the scenic coastline and rolling pastures as they passed in stunning relief, despite the exhaustion of a five-hour plane ride to London (from which I still received jetlag, despite being a frequent flyer) and the subsequent five hours of the tube and train stations wearing heavily upon me. The final stretch from Carlisle Citadel to Aspatria was roughly half an hour, a short period of reprieve, since I would need to catch a taxi in order to reach the hotel afterwards. Lugging around my suitcase made things difficult at times, but I wasn't about to complain, since I packed only the essentials: a few blouses and outerwear and pairs of pants to mix-and-match, toiletries, my laptop, cellphone and of course my trusty quartz pendulum, plus the additional clothing and downy winter jacket I wore at the moment.

Upon alighting at the Aspatria station I located a taxi driver from the service I called earlier, holding an arrival board with my name on it. Luckily I managed to stay on schedule, or else I would have felt bad for making him wait long. I smiled at the balding older gentleman as he lowered the sign and nodded his greetings to me.

"Caelan O'Reilley?" he asked, with a marked accent.

"Yes sir, that's me."

The man nodded and tucked the board under his arm. "Well, welcome to Cumbria, Miss O'Reilley."

I followed him outside to a medium-sized silver car, which he unlocked and then allowed for me to climb into the backseat while he put my luggage in the trunk. Glancing around the black leather-upholstered interior, I buckled in and waited for the drive to start.

"Alright, we're off to Allerdale Hall Hotel, correct?" the man asked me, and I nodded.

"Right."

He started the car and cranked up the heat, and a few minutes were passed without conversation as he drove on. Usually I would have talked more and asked questions, but I had to fight to stay awake. The ride from the station to the hotel was only about twenty minutes, so there wouldn't be much sleep for me either way.

"So, miss," the taxi driver started saying at a red light, "safe to assume you're Black Irish?"

"I'm… uh…?" I'd never heard that term before, but I assumed it had to do with my hair and not my light skin.

"You've got the black hair and blue eyes and the name to boot," he remarked. "But I can guess you're from America."

"O-oh, yeah. I'm from Maine, in the US."

"You've come a long way then!" he exclaimed as the stoplight turned green. "Traveling alone too, huh?"

I wondered if he was guessing about my age, since I looked about eighteen years old despite being twenty-four. (Admittedly, when I used to travel with my parents as a kid, they could lie about my age at museums and such so I could get a child's discount, even after surpassing the age limit.)

"I'm used to it," I said. "I've been to a lot of places in Europe and England, but it's my first time in Cumbria."

"You'll enjoy your stay, I'm sure."

From the rearview mirror I saw the man narrow his eyes, graying brows furrowed, and he hesitated a bit before speaking the next words.

"Be sure to take care at Allerdale Hall, though."

I could have feigned ignorance, but chose not to. "Ah, the ghosts? I was actually pretty excited about them."

A visible shiver ran through the driver's body, his knuckles looking white on the wheel.

"There's something off about that place," he said, dead serious. "Can't say I believe in the paranormal, but there's definitely something off. I wouldn't go in there even if you paid me."

I laughed nervously hearing the intensity in his voice, twirling a lock of chin-length hair between my thumb and forefinger as I often did when uncertain. "I'm… somewhat familiar with that kind of stuff. I think I'll be alright."

There was a small lapse of silence, during which I fidgeted with the denim of my jeans.

"Maybe you'll figure out the curse," the driver said at last.

"Curse…?"

"The previous owners were said to have abandoned Allerdale Hall, but some say they actually suffered brutal deaths there," he said in a low voice, as if someone else might overhear, "and their bodies are buried, unmarked, somewhere on the property. Some say they're angry and out for revenge."

Lovely, I thought. Not that all earthbound ghosts sought vengeance on the living—most were simply unable to find the light due to attachment, or suffered a sudden death and didn't realize they were dead. Sometimes they just needed someone to talk to, instead of being vilified and regarded as if they were not actual human beings.

"Moreover, activity grows far worse in winter," he added offhandedly. "If you've heard the stories, you're certainly brave. Most folks bottled after word got out."

I shrugged, one hand reaching up to brush a few wayward strands of hair from my eyes. "It's the low season for travel, so I figured it would be easier…"

"Hah, fair enough!" he replied, grinning at me from the mirror.

I smiled back, although I sensed his discomfort about the whole subject. We both went silent for the moment, and I propped my arm against the window to cushion my head against. From the way my driver talked about Allerdale Hall he'd probably avoid it like the plague, yet here I was, diving headfirst into the implied danger. At least I wasn't doing a lockdown or nighttime investigation, so if things went sour I probably wouldn't be in any serious danger.

With gray clouds collecting overhead and dimming the sky, I felt my body surrendering itself to slumber, a tempting invitation on my heavy eyelids. The taxi's interior was warm and cozy and I was far too tired, and before long I'd shut my eyes completely and began my imperceptible descent into the welcoming arms of sleep.

Just before my consciousness disappeared into the darkness altogether I could have sworn I heard a voice: a man's voice, but not the voice of my driver. It was soft but urgent, strained and melancholy at once, sounding as if it were echoing from a hundred miles away:

" _Beware of Crimson Peak."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading through the first chapter of my _Crimson Peak_ fanfiction; I really appreciate it! If it's a little slow right now, don't worry 'cause I plan to pick up the pace soon. I hope you'll favorite/follow and should you have any thoughts, please review!

(Admittedly, I haven't seen the movie yet, planning to, but I've become so enamored with it that I just had to look up the entire plot, read the novelization and then start writing. I've done my research and hopefully everything's passable for now. Feel free to let me know if there are changes I can make. :'D)

Again, thanks so much for reading this! I'm excited that I could share my story with you. Bye for now!

~CC


	2. II - Gateway to the Past

**II - Gateway to the Past**

I felt my body strain to move against the murky dreaming state, feeling as if I were drowning in the depths of a dark and viscous marsh, slowly pressed tighter and tighter against the endless mire. I could sense everything around me—the cab pitching slightly on uneven road, the warmth of the heater on my cheeks, even the seatbelt fastened across my chest—yet I seemed to have lost control of myself entirely. Even if I wanted to open my eyes or move or say something, do anything, it would have been possible. Since I experienced sleep paralysis a few times before I reasoned that this was merely the hypnagogic state of threshold consciousness between being fully asleep and fully awake, and soon I'd fully transition to either one.

Just as I began to relax, the voice I heard before spoke again, the tiny whisper reverberating in the space of my mind as if deflected by constricting walls and a high, invisible ceiling.

" _Beware of Crimson Peak."_

My heart almost stopped at the sound of that rich baritone, so deeply insistent and suffused with genuine concern that I knew this to be a true premonition. Whether the man speaking was an intelligent spirit trying to actively warn me or I was simply picking up on residual energy from the manor I did not know, but when I tried conveying a question, time had already run out.

" _Crimson Peak?"_ I started to think, familiar with the name. _"That's Allerda—"_

" _Beware...!"_

With an alarming suddenness I was thrust from the unconscious limbo and back into the taxi, gasping upon breach of the waking world, like I'd been held underwater too long and desperately needed air. I broke out in a cold sweat, one unsteady hand at my chest, lurching forward in my seat before the safety belt locked and flung me back into proper position.

"Something the matter?" the taxi driver asked after hearing me struggle. "You're looking a tad off-color there."

"N-nope, just me startling myself out of sleep." I forced a smile for him to see in the mirror, though it might have appeared more quivery than reassuring. "My tired brain's probably running wild with those ghost stories."

That was what I wanted to keep telling myself. That message sounded too foreboding to ignore, and my body's physical reaction told me rather loudly that I should run, but I really had no intention of abandoning the trip after making the commitment and deciding this was what I wanted to do.

As I pondered my choice the taxi driver broke into a raucous spate of laughter, glancing back at me for a moment with a facetious smirk and a twinkle in his eye.

"If that's all it takes to scare you, you best get yourself ready for what's ahead."

My face warmed a bit out of embarrassment, since I probably sounded scared for no reason but didn't want to relate my ominous dream in further detail. I swallowed my pride and decided I'd pry a little for answers to the questions at hand.

"Um… so I heard they call Allerdale Hall 'Crimson Peak' because of the clay on the property?"

"Yep, it's buried underneath there, and the red pigment seeps out when it snows and turns the whole place red," explained the driver. "We've had a mild season so far though. Don't think you'll be seeing anything in particular at present… Probably for the better, since in the olden days it was said the clay leeched into the manor and looked damn close to blood, dripping everywhere…"

Upon noticing my mouth hanging agape he tapered off and laughed quietly to himself. For some reason I got the feeling he received some form of satisfaction from freaking out tourists with exaggerated tales of horror. Either that or it was his way of warning us.

I was going to ask about other local rumors when I saw the front gate of the hotel come into view, seeming to materialize out of the pale mist before growing larger and larger, closer and closer. A set of spiked iron bars stood between two towering columns, opened outward so visitors could enter, the words "Allerdale Hall" displayed in a metal arch surmounted by an unfamiliar crest, with lower walls of freshly-stacked stone extending on both sides to wrap around the property. Even as the cab passed beneath it I was unable to discern the full details of the insignia, though I swore I saw the hollow eyes and toothy leer of a skull stylized at the center.

What caught my attention next was the terra cotta path leading up to the mansion, surrounded by evergreen trees and trimmed topiaries hardy enough to endure the winter months. Some looked a little worse for wear, but a complete lack of greenery would have been a far more desolate sight since the hall itself appeared so imposing and even somewhat bleak despite the renovations. Something about the way it rose up over the land and blocked out the sky struck a reverent kind of fear into my heart.

Finally the taxi came to a stop beneath a portico at the front of the hotel, which I assumed would have sheltered horse-drawn carriages and their passengers in the olden days. I extracted my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans and checked the time: 3 PM local time. The sun was probably still out, but with the cloudy skies it was hard to tell just how soon night may fall.

"Alright, Miss O'Reilley, you've reached your final destination," said my driver in a deep and ominous tone, although his ear-to-ear grin pretty much ruined the effect.

"Thank you, sir. If everything goes well and I leave here in one piece, maybe you'll be the one to drive me home."

We shared a few giggles after that, and I paid out the agreed amount with pounds and pence. After I got out of the car, the driver handed me my luggage before raising a hand in farewell, not another word spoken as he shot the hotel a shuddery sidelong glance, returned to the safety of his vehicle and drove away. The chill in the air afflicted me sooner than I expected, prompting me draw out the collapsible handle of my little suitcase and pull open one of the two intricately carved doors.

A burst of wind, neither warm nor cold, blew into my face as I tried to get in, and at the very moment I crossed the threshold into Allerdale Hall it hit me all at once, a surging wave of negative, hateful energy that carried enough force to send me stumbling backwards. I had to cling to the doorframe so I didn't fall over, gaining me the attention of the front desk receptionist, a well-dressed young man with unruly flaxen hair and a slightly gaunt but handsome face.

"Miss, are you alright?" he asked, darting from behind the counter, his English-accented voice both collected and concerned at once.

I hadn't realized I'd doubled over in the entryway with the door at my back, my suitcase flat on the ground after being knocked aside. The receptionist righted my luggage and checked on me, but I was already straightened up and trying to put on a nonchalant smile.

"I'm sorry, it was such a long trip and I just felt a little lightheaded. Thank you for your help, and please don't worry."

I tried to laugh off the tension, yet the bad vibes I sensed were definitely there, swirling around me, and already I got the feeling I wouldn't be sleeping tonight. It probably wasn't a good idea to come here alone, to stay here at night alone, something I probably realized a little too late.

The receptionist nodded, though his eyebrows remained furrowed, mouth set in a hard line.

"Let's get you checked in as soon as possible, then."

He wheeled my luggage across foyer and I tried to follow, but it felt like I was trudging through a dense fog, my head enveloped by a bewildering haze. For as normal as I pretended to look, I was stumbling around on the inside, disoriented by the large open space and encroaching gloom which even the hectically bright lamps mounted on each wall did little to disperse.

Once the receptionist started asking for my information, I rattled off a list of replies without fully understanding what he said, and after he spoke again I found myself mechanically pulling out my credit card for him to confirm the details of my stay.

"Caelan O'Reilley," he echoed, clicking through screens on a computer. "Yes, you've got a reservation for eight days, seven nights, and you booked room 2-4…"

The receptionist went on a little more about pricing and accommodations and whatnot, and though under normal circumstances I would've asked for more details, I was eager to just get to my room, do a grounding exercise and then rest.

"Your luggage will be brought up to you shortly. Please take this key, for your room. If you're feeling unwell, feel free to take the lift, which is down that way and to the right." He motioned toward the blazing stone fireplace standing opposite the entrance. "Your room, 2-4, is on the second level, next to last doorway in the hall."

"Alright, thank you," I said before taking the bronze key from the receptionist and walking over to where he earlier indicated. However, upon seeing the rickety-looking birdcage elevator lying in wait, I quickly turned back around and opted for the stairs. No way was I going to risk riding that shady thing, especially when I only had a single floor to go. As it had a maximum occupancy of five, I guessed that Allerdale's elevator might not be the sturdiest or safest one around. Passing the desk again I found that the receptionist was gone, with my luggage too. Part of me wondered if he just went for the stairs or was looking for someone else to take over his post.

The wide mahogany staircase I ascended was built to snake around the entire room and gave me quite the view of Allerdale's foyer and its breathtaking ornamentation: the polished parquet flooring and hexagonal designs, paintings and portraits set in ornate gold frames, the Gothic arches and Italian galleries, even the wooden balconies fashioned with lacy patterns on each floor above. Everything seemed so massive and so grand that I could probably spend hours just staring at the furnishing alone, utterly awe-struck. In my amazement it took little time to reach the second floor, which featured solid gray stonework and toothed arcs curving overhead.

Near the end of the corridor was my room, and directly beside it was 2-5, the master bedroom. I had wanted to book that one, but it was insanely expensive and already reserved. Judging from the faint voices coming from inside, a man and a woman who sounded like they were arguing about something, I surmised its two occupants weren't terribly happy about being here. Maybe it turned out too creepy for their honeymoon, I had no idea. Hopefully they would resolve their issue or otherwise quiet down during the night, since the fight sounded pretty heated.

Once I unlocked the door to 2-4, went through and closed it, the voices stopped altogether, and I figured the sound proofing must have been good. With the lights already on I could immediately begin surveying the room. There was a fireplace directly in front of me, a single candle sitting on the mantel along with a vase of dried roses, and on either side of the hearth there was a window with black, heavy cloth curtains. A pair of vanished chairs and a short table covered by silky dark yellow coverings stood near one wall and a gold-trimmed settee sat against another. In the far right-hand corner of the room was a four-poster bed which featured a wood frame and a pleated draping of deep red cloth. The down duvet comforter on top was a luxurious ebony color stitched with a contrasting snow-white thread, and for a moment I considered just lying there and falling asleep.

Instead, I sat down on the couch, noticing a wooden luggage rack and an armoire next to the door and a bathroom across from the bed before I closed my eyes, intent on grounding myself. I imagined my body like a tree, sending roots down, deeper into the ground until it anchored itself at the earth's core, and as I breathed in and out I let my tension and anxiety flow into the soles of my feet, descend those roots and be replaced by clean energy, until the murkiness that clouded my mind gradually subsided. Silently I gave my thanks to the earth for its help.

That was when I heard a knock on the door, and I got up to answer it, finding the same receptionist from before with my suitcase.

"Here you are, Miss O'Reilley." He motioned to the suitcase and then the luggage rack. "Would you like me to put it here?"

"Oh, yes, please," I replied, stepping back so he could come inside.

"Alright," he said as he hefted up my bag and set it down in one swift and fluid motion. "Now, is there anything else you need?"

"Let me see… no, I don't think so. But thank you anyway. Is there… anything I should know about this place in advance?"

The young man gave me an amiable smile, although the lightheartedness did not quite reach his eyes. "I wouldn't recommend going into the basement. It's… rather odd down there."

"Alright, making a mental note," I said promptly. "Well, if you don't mind me asking, what's it like working here?"

He chuckled a bit at my question, fully aware of the rumors going around. "Do you want my full and honest opinion?"

I nodded.

"Every bit as creepy as you'd probably imagine," he said. "I must admit, I'm glad I don't work on nights. I haven't experienced too much in my few months, but if you'd like to hear…"

I nodded again, vigorously.

The receptionist continued, "Sometimes it sounds like two people are talking to each other in certain spots. As soon as you go near them, they simply stop, and no one's actually there."

"Aha, that's pretty spooky," I said. "Hopefully they aren't fighting like the couple next door."

"Couple…?" The man smiled nervously. "You don't mean in the master bedroom, do you?"

"Um, yes?"

"…There isn't anyone in that room," he told me. "There's only one other family staying on this floor, and the guests with the reservation for 2-5 haven't checked in."

I didn't say anything at first, trying to fully understand that what I'd overheard were in fact spirits, and from the volume of their voices I knew that they had to be very strong, in order to manifest what was usually inaudible to human ears.

Noticing my discomfort, the receptionist tried to reassure me. "I'm sure they won't do you any—"

He couldn't finish. A shrill cry pierced through the air, coming from down the hall, consumed by pure and unadulterated fear. I felt my body go absolutely rigid, my face involuntarily contort with dread.

"Is that…?"

The receptionist turned around, eyes wide with shock.

"The other guest," he murmured, before rushing toward the source of the scream.

And, perhaps against better judgment, I followed, desperately needing to know if everything was alright, and if this was the paranormal at work, for my own peace of mind.

He had probably been trying to say, "They won't do you any harm."

I couldn't be so sure.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello there! Glad to see you on the second chapter. I'm so excited about the number of follows, and your reviews as well! Special thanks to _Crimson peak_ , _Laura201112, AngelfromBeyondBelow,_ and _SomePerson_ for your lovely comments, it's really appreciated! Hopefully my muse stays intact and I can continue with this story. I've got lots more things planned, so I do hope you'll come back and read more. Please let me know what you think~ Thanks again!


	3. III - Encounters and Exchange

**A/N:** Well… after losing my FF password, not knowing the e-mail associated with it, and lots of digging around in old files… I'm back! I can't believe how many follows this story has gotten... On my other account, I've gotten 13 follows for a 20-chapter story. This one had 60 for only 2. o_O

Anyway, I'm not complaining~ Happy New Year everyone! Special thanks to Princess PrettyPants, counterplots (also for kindly pointing out my mobile chapter-posting skills), Sparky She-Demon, Not so Blind Mieko, Cynthia Gunther, Mardre Ebridge, and Cotille S among others for your wonderful reviews, and also to those of you who continued to read my story! I'm looking to revive this, so stay tuned~

I really hope that you will enjoy the rest of _Crimson Prison_. Please favorite/follow/review if you liked it! And thank you again for stopping by. :)

~CC/Hakoniwa (Miniature Garden)

* * *

 **III - Encounters and Exchange**

That scream, high and strident and clarion, sliced cleanly through the stillness like a knife through tepid butter, so harsh in its timbre that both the receptionist and I knew something was wrong—horribly, wretchedly wrong.

The receptionist had run over to the one of the first rooms in the corridor near the place where the elevator opened, one hand pounding on the door and the other fumbling for a ring of keys in his pocket.

"Miss?" he called out, the volume and intensity of his voice gradually escalating. "Miss, are you alright?!"

I stood behind him, my heart beating madly as my mind formulated possibility after terrible possibility, each more unlikely than the last. It might have been the moment's strain at work, but I couldn't stop turning to the worst-case scenario, and what we'd have to do in the aftermath.

"Miss?!" he asked again, finally able to jam the proper key into the keyhole, yet he was unable to turn it.

I gulped. "…Please tell me she's…"

"No, wait…" A small voice spoke from the other side. "Don't, don't come in."

The receptionist and I exchanged anxious glances.

"Why? What's wrong?" he questioned.

"N… no…"

"No? What is it?" I asked gently.

"…Is there a woman outside?" the guest asked.

"Yes," the receptionist said tentatively.

"Can she come in?" came the next question. "But only her."

"She…?" The receptionist looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I nodded to him. "…Alright. She's agreed."

Slowly the doorknob turned and slowly the door swung open, revealing a darkened room and no one there to greet us.

"If anything happens, I'll be right outside," the receptionist whispered in my ear.

I bobbed my head and walked inside, leery of my surroundings, eyes unadjusted. Then at once the door was closed behind me and the lights came on, nearly blinding me, and once I managed to refocus my vision I nearly screamed.

There was an Asian girl, late teens at most, covered from head to toe in bright red sludge standing near the door, her long, dark brown hair matted down by a strange substance, dripping it onto the floor and into a pool of what looked suspiciously like blood. Making matters worse, only a single white towel covered her figure, so saturated with vermillion liquid that it had turned a sickly burnt sienna hue. Through the mess her rounded almond eyes stared at me, confounded beyond relief, and I found myself utterly lost for words.

"I… what…?"

"There's… something wrong with the tub," she uttered between heavy breaths, a faint accent in her voice.

I glanced over to the bathroom door, and then back at the girl. "What is it?"

She shook her head vigorously, unwilling to talk, sending ruddy droplets flying about from her soaked tresses.

"Alright, alright," I said, putting up two hands in the hopes she'd stop. "Let me take a look."

Cautiously I inched my way towards the dim washroom, lit only by clouded sunshine, and peered around the corner to glimpse the white claw-footed bathtub inside, the abandoned showerhead and reddish water on the ground being the only immediately noticeable oddities. I went ever closer, scooting across the spotted granite tiles until I came close enough to lean in and view the bathwater: a shockingly bright crimson.

Despite the dilution it retained a strange and somewhat unearthly saturation, such that my eyes stung a little just from looking at it. I choked back a swear word as my brain drew a gruesome comparison to some sort of grisly murder scene. However, that didn't seem even remotely reasonable for the situation, since there wasn't a body or body parts in there, and the guest herself seemed otherwise unharmed. Finally, against better judgment I dipped my hand into the tub, scraped the bottom and pulled back out.

Dripping on my fingers was some sort of red-orange silt. I squeezed it and the runny sediment made an audible squelch, taking on the consistency of wet sand and becoming a little heap in my palm.

"Is this…?"

I dashed back outside and began to open the door using my free hand. The girl looked at me pleadingly, brows furrowed.

"Do you know…?"

"Hold on, I've gotta make sure," I replied, and went into the hallway where the receptionist waited for me.

"What is it?" he asked, and I held out my hand with the sediment heap. "…Clay?"

"You tell me," I said, staring it down at the same time. "If I try putting two and two together, I'd guess that girl was in the middle of a bath, and clay started coming out of the tap, mixing with the water. It's a real mess in there. I feel bad for her… Poor thing's scared half to death."

"Oh… oh dear. That's no good," he muttered. "I've never had this happen before, but… let me call for someone and… I'll be right back."

The receptionist headed for the stairs and started down, vanishing from my sight. I stood there, alone for the moment, and went to head back inside the room when the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up and it felt as if someone had touched my shoulder.

"Sir?" I whirled around, thinking it was the receptionist. However, no one was there. I whimpered. "M-Miss…"

After pushing my way inside, the girl noticed my blanched face.

"Why are you so scared? Is something wrong with that stuff?"

"N-no," I said quickly. "It's just clay, apparently. Maybe it got in the pipes."

"Clay…?" she returned, still looking concerned.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about. We should get you cleaned up though… D'you wanna use the bathroom in my room?"

"May I?" she asked.

"Yeah, go ahead. Look for room 2-4 near the end of the hall… Door's unlocked."

The girl beamed, happy as she could appear whilst barely clothed and covered in bloodlike clay. She flitted to the closet, collected some clothing and started for the door.

"Hold on," I said, removing my coat and putting it around her shoulders. "Hurry in, okay?"

"Okay! Thank you!" She started to leave, and then stopped to face me. "What's your name?"

"My name? It's Caelan."

"Kay…lin." The girl sounded out my name, smiling. "My name is Shiori."

"Nice to meet you, Shiori."

I followed her out into the gray hallway and watched her dash to my room, finally disappearing inside. It was creepy if no one else was around so I went back inside, noticing a portable folding cot in one corner of the room, aside from the actual bed. The girl must have been traveling with family.

"Miss O'Reilley!" The receptionist called for me, and I saw him come through the door. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. This has never happened before, and we'll have to call in a plumber… Ah, where has the guest gone?"

"I let her use my bathroom to wash up. I doubt she wanted to go back in there."

"Alright. I'll talk to her about a room change later. Again, thank you so much for your help."

"No worries at all. And I… I don't think I ever caught your name?"

"Valerian Ashcraft," he replied. "It's… rather a strange name, so just call me Val."

I shook my head. "Nah, not strange at all. Like the herb, right? Awesome. Gets cats kinda high."

"I, well, yes… cats?"

"Oh, I used to grow a lot of herbs back home. I even brought some with me, dried of course, but the TSA thought it was something else and had to search my bags…" I groaned about the dreaded weed accusations, and Val laughed in amusement, grinning. "Eheh, anyway, I'll go check in on Shiori, and you just let me know if I can do anything else to help."

"Thank you again, Miss O'Reilley."

"No problem, Val. And hey, if we're on first-name basis, just call me Caelan. See ya."

I darted out of the guest room and headed back to my own, my heart fluttering a bit at the memory of Val's laugh. It was quite the contrast to his servile all-business demeanor, and he honestly looked so cute wearing a genuine, spontaneous smile. Then I started to smack myself internally for those thoughts. What was I, an infatuated teenager?

As I approached the door to 2-4 I shifted my attention to the rustle of cloth and footfall from within, prompting me to knock and ask for entrance.

"Shiori? You all set in there?"

"Y-yes! Come in," she bode quickly.

Inside, I found the girl wringing out her hair and combing her fingers through the highlighted strands, having put on a pastel-pink knit sweater and light blue skinny jeans. She looked at me cheerily, lips curving upwards as she bowed her head politely.

"Thank you, for letting me use your bathroom. I feel much better now!"

"No problem, Shiori. You can probably go back to use the hairdryer in your room, but there might not be any water when the plumbers make repairs. Feel free to come back if you need to."

"Thank you again," she said, folding up a bath sheet in her hands. "I apologize that I had to use one of your towels… I can get you a new one, if you would like."

"No, no need to apologize," I said. "They always provide more than I need, so I think I'm good! So, uh, yeah, hopefully there won't be any further problems, and you have a good rest of the time here. On vacation with your family?"

Shiori nodded. "With my mother and father. We needed to get away, and after everyone talks about the hotel, I wanted to come here and…"

Something in her expression shifted and grew distant, as if she recalled something sad.

"Shiori…?"

"A-ah, I need the hairdryer soon!" she said abruptly, snapping out of that daze. "Wet hair, don't want a cold. I hope to see you again, Caelan _-san_!"

The girl bowed again, nearly teleported herself to the door, waved once and withdrew from the room. I raised an eyebrow, thoughtful.

"… _-san_ … a respectful suffix in Japanese, I think?"

She seemed nice, if a bit eccentric. Not that I minded, since I wasn't exactly the definition of normality either.

Glancing out the window, I noticed the sun had gone completely, plunging the grounds into near complete darkness. While it was only 5-ish now, it would've been near noon back home, and I was exhausted. I drew the curtains shut, secured the locks on the door and opted for bed. Dinner wasn't that important at the moment, as I'd already eaten on the train, and the bed looked so luxurious that, after washing up, I couldn't resist throwing myself on it.

I rolled onto my back, looking at the room illuminated only by a dim bedside lamp, and then at the unlit chandelier above. Allerdale Hall Hotel truly was a lovely place, and I hoped to enjoy myself a bit, whether that involved paranormal encounters or not. In fact, I might have preferred if things remained this peaceful, unlike the sensation I experienced upon arrival. Sleeping at night decreased my chances of seeing anything, and the time shift would take some getting used to. Tomorrow, I decided, I would look around a little more, perhaps in the evening too, if I mustered the courage.

Content with my decision, I switched off the lamp and settled into bed, pulling the sheets over my body and up to my ears, the room warm and heated and perfect for a frosty night. In no time at all I slipped away into slumber, totally unconscious until I felt myself sitting up in bed, shifting to the side and dropping my feet to the floor. I saw my shadowy room through what looked like xenon headlights, brightening only the areas I set eyes on. It took a lot of effort to swivel even my head, and as I struggled to shift my field of vision, I spotted a man standing in front of the door, watching me with a reserved, sidelong glance.

I'd never seen such a person before in my life. He looked like he had stepped out of another era, wearing a tidy frock coat, a matching pair of black pants and a velvety sable cravat, the only other shade visible in his ensemble being the white collar of his dress shirt. I tried to move closer for a better look, but my limbs were leaden and nearly immobile. That man, on the other hand, moved fluidly through the heavy atmosphere, almost gliding through the air while he walked forth in an eerily smooth fashion.

"You are…?" I struggled to say, seeing him draw closer.

The sculptured cheekbones, proud nose and slicked hairstyle spoke to the nobility of a bygone era, though his thin lips were pursed and bloodless, his gaze begging for recognition, urgent, attempting to convey an unspoken, unspeakable message. Those irises were like glacial lakes, distant yet piercing, as if accustomed to a long and unrelieved suffering, resigned to and consumed by despair. It seemed like any of his suppressed grief had been renewed afresh by our encounter alone, yet I had no idea why—I had no idea who he was.

It was difficult to meet the man's eyes and see through those windows all the misgivings and shame he harbored but did not share. Perhaps the instinct itself stemmed from my empathic predisposition, but the emotions resonated inside my chest and shook me to the core, simply looking at him, looking at that expression, sharing his heartache without knowing the reason behind it.

I didn't realize that I'd forced my gaze to the ground until the man's patent leather shoes entered my line of sight. Slowly, I lifted my head, seeing the front of his coat, his shirt collar, and then the face—just not the face from earlier.

The faint nude tint of his skin suddenly evaporated; the raven hues of his wavy hair and even his clothing drained away until becoming the purest white, tainted only by the bright scarlet streaking down his jacket. Even his eye color had been inverted, and now a pair of sickly yellow irises, framed by inky sclera, regarded me quietly, almost fearful.

Most people would have been terrified. Most people would have run; maybe they would have screamed as well. But, despite his horrific appearance, he bared only the void of sorrow, the hollowness of his being, and I in turn mourned for him. He continued to look at me, entirely silent, while a bloody gash began to open across his cheek like a seam coming undone under strain. Wisps of red emerged slowly from the wound, tracing out tendrils of liquidy smoke which rose and undulated and faded out in a constant stream.

My consciousness was being pulled back into my body, and my face was wet, wet with the anguished tears I couldn't cry. I reached for him, uselessly.

I awoke, still reaching. I looked at the black outline of my hand, at the ceiling, and touched my face; I stroked the lines of water traversing my ice-cold skin. The room was chilled beyond relief, and in the light offered by the digital nightstand clock, I glimpsed the mist of my breath.

At the moment, I realized I wasn't alone. In the corner of the room sat a smaller human-sized figure without a face, a shadow within the shadows, crouched down with its arms folded across the knees, merely observing, invisible eyes on me and only me. I blinked once, unable to react, and after passing a single second, the silhouette had departed from its previous spot and now sat squatting at the end of the bed, half its form hidden by the mattress. This couldn't have been the man in my dream; it radiated nothing but resentment and negativity, and I didn't hesitate to lunge for the lights.

My fingers were already on the lamp switch when I heard it speak, rasping deeply in my ear.

" _Shiori…!"_


End file.
